Song of The South
by turbomagnus
Summary: A collection of shorts, drabbles and snippets for Hetalia, all featuring in some way the Confederate States of America. Exact situations and other characters may vary.
1. To Father

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. Whether or not that goal can be reached, we'll see... This is The 365 Project, 17 February.

Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from Hetalia or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely.

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"To Father"  
By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

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There's a lot of things people forget, the old because of time, the young because they're not taught it, but Nations remember. We carry the scars of our darkest days and the memories of our greatest triumphs. People see memorials and monuments, we see reminders of people that we knew and that knew us, of battles fought and of blood shed. Too much blood, sometimes, but sometimes that's how it is.

Too much blood shed between brothers...

We don't talk much any more; he refuses to listen, claiming that since I lost our fight I don't count as a Nation anymore, and I won't back down from the simple fact that my people believe in me, their loyalty to my symbols and borders and to my reasons for being still stands and as long as it does, it doesn't matter how many fights I lose, I'll stand up for what I, what they, what _we_ believe in; the rights of the people and of the states. I'll stand even firmer for those rights since that brother of mine is becoming more and more enticed by the idea of 'the rights of the federal government'.

We were founded on the same ideals, the same concept of the right to self-rule... our Founding Fathers never wanted this, our father never wanted this. _Our_ father because George Washington was as much my father as he was that of the United States, he pledged his life, his fortune and his Sacred Honor to the cause of liberty, to fight against tyranny, not just of Americans by the English but of Americans by Americans as well. That's why he supported so strongly a Constitutional Republic for a government, to keep government power in the hands of the people through their representatives. He never believed in these 'career politicians' like we've got now, he never did. Simply, Father believed in the ideal of the federal government being answerable to the states and those to the people, the same ideal that I was born under when the United States began to waver from it.

Everyone remembers that Robert E. Lee said "I shall never bear arms against the Union, but it may be necessary for me to carry a musket in the defense of my native state, Virginia, in which case I shall not prove recreant to my duty", but they keep forgetting that Father was a Virginian too; stepfather to the grandfather of Robert E. Lee's wife Mary, in fact; and so as much a Southerner as anyone who wore the grey during the time my brother and I fought. Even if he died long before I came into being, he's still my Father. So while that brother of mine keeps calling today 'Presidents' Day', trying to honor people some of whom just don't deserve it, I know what I plan to celebrate in a few days...

Because the twenty-second is George Washington's Birthday.


	2. Pack It In

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. Whether or not that goal can be reached, we'll see... This is The 365 Project, 26 February.

I'm surprised no one's ever thought of doing this crossover before... I know that _technically_ the Road Rovers are supposed to have become the pets of their countries' leaders, but, especially with elections in the United States, leaders can change, which would alter the situation for the Rovers... but, if they were the pets of the Nations themselves... I mean, look at how Hunter acts and then watch Hetalia and look at America...

Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from "Hetalia - Axis Powers", "Road Rovers" or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely.

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"Pack It In"  
By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

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Bruno wiggled under the fence and into the compound, this was the kind of thing that the pit bull enjoyed - taking care of his Nation and helping them out, even if it just involved spying on the other Nations while they were having a meeting. Shaking himself to get the dirt out of his fur, Bruno looked around, sniffing. Other Nations besides The Confederacy had canine partners too - neither Bruno nor his Nation considered him a 'pet' - and they sometimes brought them along to these meetings and it wouldn't do to have any of them alert their Nations to his being there before he was even in the compound good. The scents in the air told the pit bull that Russia had brought that Siberian husky of his - he liked those two, sometimes; they liked their tea almost as much as Bruno's own Nation. He'd never understand their fondness for cold weather, though. Bruno took another sniff of the air and made a sound of distaste; Germany's doberman was there too - just like his Nation, 'Blitz' was bossy and arrogant, expecting everyone to do whatever he said, but didn't last too long against strong resistance - as was the sheepdog of Switzerland, who was one weird dog, especially with his habit of hiding things like whole sandwiches in his fur for later. A third sniff brought a particularly pleasing scent to the pit bull - Colleen was there too, it seemed. England's collie was beautiful and dangerous, the Confederate pit bull's favorite combination. Unfortunately for Bruno, if there was any dog she was close to, it was Hunter and...

Bruno growled, that dumb-dog pet of America's scent was mixed with Colleen's. Why did all the girl dogs go for that tennis-ball-obsessed golden retriever? He was just as bad about that stupid 'hero' stuff as his Nation was, so why was it everyone liked him? Sure, pit bulls like him had a reputation, but that was the humans' doing - they were nanny-dogs, bred and trained to watch over and protect long before humans started abusing them and using them in dog-fights - but nobody ever bothered to remember that. They just remembered that pit bulls were used in dog-fighting and decided that made them bad dogs. But his Nation understood, The Confederacy did. They were the same, after all; branded and colored by what others had said and done regarding them. It wasn't any wonder, really, that their dogs got along about as well as America and The Confederacy, which wasn't much at all. Maybe before he was done today, Bruno thought, he'd make off with that stupid ball of Hunter's, have just a small victory for his Nation. Yeah, that was an idea.

At least that Taco Bell dog of Mexico's didn't seem to be there, anyway...


	3. Shanshu : April 9, 1865

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 9 April.

The Confederacy waits for the stroke of the pen that will mean his demise.

Factual note; the Appomattox Court House referred to herein is the 'old' Appomattox Court House, now known as Appomattox Court House National Historic Park, approximately three miles east of Appomattox, Virginia, where the 'new' Appomattox Court House is located.

Disclaimer: Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from Hetalia or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely.

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"Shanshu"  
By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

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Shanshu - from "Angel: The Series", a word with two meanings that at first seem to be mutually contradictory, 'to live' and 'to die', but are actually merely two halves of a single concept; 'Live to die, die to live.'

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April 9, 1865  
Appomattox Court House,  
Virginia, Confederate States of America

Over the last four years, John Sutherland had seen a lot of men die; some of them had went quickly with expressions of shock on their faces as though they couldn't believe it was happening, others had died slowly, screaming, weeping in pain. A lot of them had been his men, his people, but just as many had been his brother's, in both cases they were still Americans, the only difference being the choice they made when it came to the states and the people or the Union and the government. They were all Americans and by the grace of God Almighty, they would all find a home in American soil for time eternal. They were the lucky ones. John wouldn't be so blessed, because he was the living embodiment of the Confederate States of America as a Nation, and Nations that died didn't leave bodies to be buried, they just faded away... and before long, so would he. All with the stroke of a pen.

The Union called it a 'civil war', trying to make it seem like simple internal problems, conviently ignoring the fact that the seccessionist states had became a new country when their representatives had signed the Constitution of the Confederate States of America, which had also been the moment that John had come into existance as their Nation, and that any conflict between them was no different than when the united colonies and their Nation had fought England. To the Confederates, it was 'The War of Southern Independence' or even 'The War Between The States', meaning the Confederate States and the United States, because calling it a 'civil war' would be the same as denying their own freedom and status as an independent country. John shook his head sadly, considering how hypocritical the Union government and their Nation could be, calling the Confederates the same things and treating them the same way that England's redcoats had done America's people not even a century before.

'Good God, Merciful Father,' John prayed in his head, 'If they'd do such things during the war, what might they do now? Oh, Lord, protect my people when I no longer can, I beg you...'

The soldiers nearby, both Union and Confederate, had the decency to pretend not to see the man with his grey kepi hat in his hands and his face turned towards Heaven as he made his silent appeal to the Lord of Hosts. John had been fighting back tears since he had arrived at Appomattox Court House, but when he felt the first pain, he couldn't hold back any longer and with a gasp he dropped to his knees and began to cry as the pain continued, fading and growing in time with the scratches of the pen on the surrender documents. As the pen finished the final stroke and left the page, John fell forward, twisting and landing on his side, his kepi hat landing next to him as he blacked out.

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April 10, 1865

John woke with a gasp and tried to sit up, only for a firm hand to keep him from rising.

"Rest, brother, regain your strength. They must not find us until you have," John recognized the voice of his adoptive brother, Degataga, the Nation of the Cherokee people.

"Where are we?"

"We now rest at the old Council Grounds, brother," the Cherokee Nation answered, "In the lands of my people's ancestors."

John turned his head from side to side, taking in the dark night beyond the illumination of the campfire, "I should be with your people's ancestors, my friend, how am I still here?"

"That'd be our doing, Sutherland," a new voice added from the other side of the campfire, scooting over on the ground so that John could see a figure wearing Confederate gray sitting there, "The war maybe be over, but the fight's sure not, especially not since Washington is refusing to let our states back into Congress until the Northern ones say-so."

"But, a Nation..."

A second figure in Confederate gray stood up and walked over to kneel down next to John, "...Lives in the hearts and minds of its people. Just because the Confederates and the government had to surrender don't mean we've given up on the ideals of the Confederacy."

"We got you away from Appomattox real quick before they could do anything," the first Confederate jumped in, "Told 'em we were gonna be giving you 'a decent burial'. They were so sure of themselves they didn't even bother to check and make sure you were dead."

"And as the Confederacy lives in the hearts of men," Degataga put his hand on John's chest over the Nation's own 'heart', "The Confederate Nation lives in the world of men."

"We'll tell the North what they want to hear," the second Confederate added, "And they'll help us rebuild. We'll restore our land and you'll get stronger along with it. Some people believe that the Union's victory proves the need for 'a strong centralized government'... sooner or later, we all know that's going to turn into tyranny, it always does when a government starts putting itself before the people..."

"We'll all be needing you then, John," the first Confederate nodded, "Not just us Southern boys, but even the Yankees too. We'll all be needing someone to rally 'round and to lead us when that time comes, so you just worry 'bout getting stronger so that when time comes America needs it to, the South can rise again."

"...Rise again..." John repeated the words, closing his eyes with a smile to rest and heal, just like his people were.

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Author's Note; In case anyone is curious, the two Confederates represent, in a way, the two sides of the South; the first is the backwoodsman, the proverbial 'country boy' that lives off the land and doesn't have time for social niceties, while the second is the 'Southern Gentleman', well-spoken and well-mannered.


End file.
